


Sharp Eyes

by Merit



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-24 15:53:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3774556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johanna wanted to do something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharp Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thinkatory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/gifts).



The sun was sharp, blinding and there were a million eyes on Johanna. She breathed in deeply, her skin crawling, her eyes wide but she didn’t _see_ anything. She didn’t want to be here, but she didn’t have a choice. One of her stylists – guards, she thought with a twist of her lip, because wasn’t trusted on her own – guided her to a bar, hand on her elbow, whisper in her ear. She was to stay still, be pretty, and be seen. She didn’t even know this event was even _for_. But people wanted to just _see_ her.

He left her there, nodding at her as he drifted back into the crowd. He was probably still watching her, Johanna mused, making sure she kept on looking pretty. She stared up at the very expensive display of liquor in front of her. There was just so much.

A lovely looking Avox popped up, black hair smoothed back slickly, and she smiled at Johanna, bobbing her head. Johanna wondered what she had done. She hoped that the Capitol had suffered. The Avox leaned forward, nodding again, her smile becoming slightly nervous.

“Oh,” Johanna said, “I have no idea. Something strong.” Maybe she would take up drinking. It wasn’t the worst hobby Johanna could think of.

A man laughed behind her and Johanna tensed, shoulders drawn up. And the stupid thing was that she could hardly move in the silly things they put her in. They wanted her to slaughter and then be cute. She was only good at one of those things. She shot a nasty look at the man behind her but he just grinned broadly, skin crinkling at the corner of his grey eyes. He slid onto the stool next to her, knee almost, but not quite touching her. Even so, Johanna shifted away and sighed heavily.

“Do you mind?” She asked, raising a brow up at him. “I don’t _want_ your company.” She didn’t want to be around anyone living.

He ignored her. “Haymitch Abernathy,” he said, “Nice to meet you too, Johanna Mason,” with that he looked away from her and smiled when an Axox placed a glass full of an amber liquid. He didn’t even have to ask, Johanna thought, lip curling. Haymitch smacked his lips and nodded his thanks at the Avox. Haymitch took a gulp and then sighed heavily. “Aged fifty years,” he said. “They’d only been doing the Games for twenty years. One of the first Games where every kid had known nothing else.” He sounded idle, almost.

Johanna started when a drink was placed in front of her. Unlike Haymitch’s it was frothy purple, sugar on the rim and berries cut into amusing shapes. Blueberries hadn’t been in season for fucking months, she idly noted, fingers digging into the fine oak bar. Haymitch’s gaze rolled over her, heavy and judging, but Johanna didn’t shift, didn’t even move. She glared at him.

“The drink is nice,” Haymitch said softly, head indicating the drink. “Not that potent, though,” he added.

She wanted to scream at him. No. She just wanted to scream at someone. Johanna’s shoulders slumped. “I could be a regular drunkard,” she said, bitter, “Like you.” She sipped the drink. It was sweet and light, bubbles dancing down her throat. It tasted like nothing Johanna had ever had before. She hated herself for liking it.

“Could be,” Haymitch said easily, the whiskey making his words slur, or maybe it was just his District 12 accent. “But you don’t like losing control, do you?”

“And you like wallowing in your own sick?” She snapped, aiming for pain, digging for suffering. “An old man full of nasty liquor, nothing new there, nothing nice.”

He laughed. “Oh fuck no,” and his clear grey eyes met her eyes and it was like looking in the mirror. “Helps me sleep at night. Helps me forget what I did. Helps me forget what they did to me,” and he sounded so light. Johanna wanted to round on him, punch him in the face, for wanting to forget it. She wanted them dead. “Helps me think,” he said, looking musingly at his glass before his eyes met hers. He hated the Capitol too, Johanna realized.

Johanna made a dismissive sound, something her mother had despaired over, something the Capitol didn’t think was very ladylike. She didn’t like thinking her family had something in common with the Capitol. “I’ve known drunkards,” she said, giving Haymitch a long look, full of loathing, “You’re not special.”

He laughed, shrugging, “Maybe, maybe not,” and there was a smile in his grey eyes.

 

* * *

 

She was told – later, much later – that Haymitch had liked her from the moment she had opened her mouth. That he trusted her, not with his life, not yet. But enough that he labelled her promising. She wanted to throw his words back in his face. She _had_ been promising. Hadn’t she proven that in her Games? She didn’t think she was anything now.

He told her, hands framing her face but not touching her, that he still thought she was promising. His voice was soft and he smelled strange. He wasn’t drunk, she thought with a sob, rushing into his embrace.

She wasn’t sure if she liked it.

 

* * *

 

The waiting got her sometimes. It bit into her, settling there, making itself comfortable until all Johanna wanted to do was to scream and seethe. It was the 72nd Hunger Games and she had two kids from home – hadn’t she kissed the girl’s older brother? She thought she had but they hadn’t spoken since she had won the Games – dying in some forsaken desert. They couldn’t even look up and see the sunlight, the moonlight drifting through the leaves when they died. Johanna hadn’t, couldn’t risk it, thought much of death during her Games but she had least had trees.

“Hey,” Haymitch said, breaking her concentration and if they weren’t surrounded by a dozen other people, Johanna was sure she would have snapped and started screaming. She was tempted to do so anyway. “You’ve got a nasty look on your face. Didn’t your momma ever say that if the wind changed, your face would stay the same?”

“Yes, she did,” Johanna said tensely. It was night in the Games even though it was only a little past three in the Capitol. The time changing messed with you, Johanna recalled, it felt like even your body was betraying you. “But she also said not to talk to strangers,” she said, giving Haymitch a quick once over. He smiled at her and raised his glass in her direction. His eyes were warm above the rim as he stared at her and Johanna ignored the catch in her throat as she turned to face the screen again. Nothing had happened yet.

“I bet you weren’t very good at following her orders,” Haymitch said, and the glass in his hand was mostly full. Only one of his tributes was still alive.

Johanna shrugged. “Better than some,” she said, giving in a long, sly look. Johanna had seen old pictures of young Haymitch but she had never paid any attention to them until she met him. It unsettled her how eerily they both looked the same after their Games.

“Oh I was a good boy,” Haymitch said, tapping his chest with his spare hand before letting it settle between their legs. Johanna shifted, but then settled back. He wasn’t too bad, she thought, not good but neither was she. And he had been doing this for twenty goddamn years. Johanna doubted she could. Every day she felt restless energy pumping through her veins, urging revenge, urging for her to do _something_. “The best boy,” Haymitch said, “And they were so proud of me. For surviving. And my mother said she wouldn’t say a word about what happened there. It was the past and she wasn’t going to let it influence the future.”

Johanna sighed. “Mothers are good like that, aren’t they?”

He hadn’t told her. Finnick had, whispering it in her ear, keeping his face so utterly charming, she was sure everyone else thought he was seducing her. And, of course, Snow hadn’t bothered keeping her family’s death much of a secret if you knew the right people. Haymitch knew the right people and a whole bunch of the wrong sort too. Maybe that’s why he resorted to the drink, she thought idly. After twenty years, she might too.

They weren’t touching but he was warm, a steady heat that Johanna missed. No one really touched her these days. She had stylists poke and prod her but it wasn’t personal.

She let out a long heavy breath. Something was happening in the Arena but Johanna unfocused her eyes and tried to tune out the noises. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Johanna stretched out her hand and they touched, just. Just the tips of their pinkie fingers. It was a spark and Johanna closed her eyes.

The cannon sounded. Johanna inhaled sharply, eyes flashing open. Haymitch placed his hand on hers, his hand warm and softer than she had expected. He might have died in 12’s mines by now, she thought, or she could have been felled by a tree. They could have both been dead but either way they both wouldn’t have been _here_.

Johanna turned his hand over and threaded their fingers together, clenching them so tight she must have been causing him pain but Haymitch only squeezed back.

She flashed a smile even though her eyes were wet and his gaze was fierce.

They were going to burn it all down together, he promised, whispering in her ear. It was dangerous but he covered it with a heavy kiss on her jaw.

Johanna’s eyes were bright.

 

* * *

 

Johanna gasped and wrapped a hand around Haymitch neck. His breathing grew tight against her throat, even though she wasn’t _really_ digging in _that_ hard. He was muttering, probably something obscene from the hard sounds she was hearing.  But then he stopped, kissing, biting at the junction between her neck and her shoulder. Johanna shook, her vision blurring. She threaded a hand through Haymitch’s hair and pulled him back, smiling viciously as she watched his eye lids flutter lazily. There was a smirk on his face. And Johanna laughed because she never had fun like this before.

“Oh your knees,” she whispered, not because she was _afraid_ , but because she knew how much Haymitch liked it when her voice was low and thick with promise.

He knelt, slow and steady, hands running up and down her thighs. The hair there stood on end and Johanna wanted to wriggle back and squirm but she was saving that for later. His breath was heavy on her skin and Johanna arched into his touch. His fingers rough, his tongue smooth. She dragged a hand through his hair, fingers digging, eyes closing when she let go. She sighed heavily, sagging into his strong hands. He rose quickly, finger tips soft up her sides, pressing kisses up the column of her neck, whispering sweet, filthy things that she only half understood in her haze.

Johanna opened her eyes and smiled at Haymitch. “Better,” she said, because the old fool didn’t need a bigger head. Haymitch shrugged loosely. He looked thinner, Johanna thought.

“So you can teach an old dog new tricks,” Haymitch said, twisting his mouth, his lips still wet.

“Hmm,” Johanna said, rolling her shoulders and stretching. “So you think this new girl of yours is something?” Johanna had seen Katniss Everdeen volunteer fifty or so times now. Pretty in her old fashioned dress and utterly unprepared for the Capitol. No one was, not even the Careers who had glory and death hammered into their heads.

“Maybe,” Haymitch said, settling next to her, fingers threading through hers. She was going to smell like sex now. “She’s got quite the tongue on her. Smart. Peeta will be better at playing the Capitol,” he said, frowning.

“They never do come all bright and polished in the right package, do they?” Johanna said. “Oh well. One Games at a time.”


End file.
